


Pit Stop

by transfixeddream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transfixeddream/pseuds/transfixeddream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean check into a motel. Otherwise: porn.</p><p>Also posted <a href="http://transfixeddream.livejournal.com/93737.html">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pit Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Written for altruisticinteg for her generous donation at thepurpledove!

The motel has seen better days. It's rundown, beat up and looks like the kind of place not even the sketchiest of guys would come to; the kind of place that doesn't even try to pretend that they're an innocent establishment. A place even a hunter would thinking twice about entering, but it's apparently the best they're gonna get in this shit town, so they're gonna have to make do.

The vacancy sign is all but burnt out, the first C the sole remaining letter lit up in blue. It's the last place Dean would want to stop at, let alone Sam, who's eyeing the lot with a strong distaste. When Dean reaches across the seat and gives his leg a squeeze, however, Sam whips his head to the side, eyes nearly filled with black.

"Good?" Dean asks.

Sam nods, running his tongue across his lips while he does it, effectively making Dean forget every thought in his head and replacing them with a ton of new ones. It's only Sam's lips curving up, his voice coming out teasing but with a tense edginess--"Are _you_ good, Dean?"--that snaps Dean out of it.

"Yeah," Dean replies, a quick jerk of his head as he shuts off the car. "Yeah, c'mon."

It's easy enough to climb out of the car, to fake calmness for an audience of nobody. Sam jabs his thumb over his shoulder to the main office, and Dean nods, spinning the keys around his finger and then shoving them into his pocket before opening the back door. He grips the duffels' straps, grinding his teeth a little when he sees the assorted fast food bags littering the floors, then yanks the bags out in one quick tug and slams the door again.

Sam doesn't take long at all, coming back a couple minutes later with a key dangling from his fingers, an infectious smirk planted on his face.

"Guy said we're the only customers in three days," he says once he reaches Dean. "Said he'd give us the best room he's got, long as we want it."

"Awesome."

"Yeah," Sam says on a huff of laughter.

The "best room" apparently means the one that still has most of its wallpaper. Dean walks in and wishes he had taken a couple extra breaths outside; the smell of stale smoke fills the place, cigars and pot and cigarettes, barely masking the scent of sex which lingers low in the air.

The room itself is about the size of a closet, no furniture besides a bed and a table, which has one leg that's shorter than the other three. The bed looks like it's manageable. The headboard is missing a chunk that looks vaguely like it was bitten off by a werewolf, and the bedding is stained some mix of white and yellow--has to be stained, cause there's no way anybody would buy a color so fugly. There's pillows, though, which look pretty decent, so it's not completely horrible.

"Nice fit," Dean says, dropping the bags on the floor. "Dead-end town, dead-end motel."

Sam chuckles from behind him, nudges him a little further into the room and then shuts the door. "Think we would've had better luck on the side of the road," he says, but Dean doesn't really listen because then Sam's hands are cupping his shoulders, palms digging in gently as he rubs them.

"Bed looks stable," Sam says, and this time Dean hears him loud and clear. It's a quick walk over, especially with Sam all but pushing him towards it.

The bed creaks under their weight, a loud, aching groan that sounds anything _but_ stable; more like it might completely fall apart with any extra force. Sam's straddling Dean's legs like he doesn't care, hair hanging in his face, wearing a filthy grin like he _wants_ to break the bed. Dean reaches up and grips him by the back of his neck and pulls him in for a crushing kiss.

Sam doesn't kiss him the way Dean's seen him with girls, all gentle, soft and probing. With Dean, Sam's kissing is always overeager and frantic; hard and sloppy with a lot of tongue, wide mouth sucking at Dean's and pulling him in, and it's fucking fantastic, the best thing Dean's ever had attacking his lips. Dean's hand slips from Sam's neck up through his hair, locking his fingers in the strands as he pulls, biting down on Sam's lip gently. Sam groans above him, groin rocking against him for friction, already solid cock grinding against Dean's hip that gets Dean's own dick up to speed really fucking fast.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean says when Sam moves away from his mouth to taste his jaw. He shoves his hands under Sam's jacket and shoves at it, muttering, "C'mon, Sam. Fuck it, c'mon."

Laughing, Sam pulls away and ditches his jacket and button-down, leaving him in a t-shirt. Dean pushes his hands against Sam's waist, letting them ride up underneath the thin cotton to touch the smooth, damp skin there. Sam's built like a rock, no surprise there, but every damn time Dean has to trace over the muscles like they're this big new discovery. He's thumbing over one of Sam's many new scars, a short sliver of a line that's probably from a blade, when Sam finally reaches over his head to pull off the last of his shirts.

There's miles of lean body exposed then, deep contours of muscle that has Dean's mouth watering and he doesn't think, just grips Sam by the shoulders when he leans down and flips them over with a hard shove. Sam goes willingly, smirking up at Dean and Dean just smirks right back. He makes fast work of his clothes, till he's naked from the waist up, just like his brother.

He leans down, gets his mouth on Sam and--more importantly--Sam's mouth on him. Sam moves a little, lips and tongue moving high on Dean's neck and Dean shudders, rubs the heel of his palm against Sam's nipple, eliciting a groan from him, mouth stopping just to breathe hot air against the wetness on Dean's neck, hand pushing between them to cup Dean's cock, fingers squeezing right through the denim.

"Yeah, that's it, Sammy," Dean says, panting and pressing his hips into Sam's hand. He pulls away and moves down Sam's torso, Sam's hand following, and he works Sam's nipple into a hard nub between his thumb and finger, squeezing until he can lock his mouth around it. Dean catches it with his teeth and smirks, swipes his tongue across it just so he can hear Sam again. Sam arches and swears, second hand slapping Dean between his shoulder blades and pushing him down.

"Oh--oh, god," Sam chokes out, followed by a sharp intake of breath when Dean presses his lips flat against the brown flesh. Dean swirls his tongue around the base, licking the clean sweat from him, and Sam's hand starts to travel from Dean's shoulders down his back, and then lower still until his fingers are at his ass. "Shit, man, just-- _c'mon_ , enough."

Dean moves his hand up, catches Sam's other nipple between his fingers and squeezes hard, considers it a complete success when Sam moves his hands to Dean's shoulders, and shoves. Dean stumbles back onto the bed, arms catching himself, and grins cockily as Sam maneuvers himself into a kneeling position. His fingers fumble with the button on his jeans for too long, and Dean's about to open his mouth, ask if he wants some help when Sam looks straight at him, like the fucker knows what Dean's thinking. Then the button slips through the hole and Sam's pulling down the zipper, cock bulging inside his underwear, all framed fantastically by the open V of the fly.

And Sam looks fucking good like this, hair damp with sweat and matted to his head, hanging in clumps. His body gleaming, faint scars scattered over his torso, muscles large and rippling, flexing as he slides out of his jeans. His cock is leaking a wet spot through the cotton of his briefs, long and thick, but he doesn't pull his underwear off, just tosses his jeans to the floor and crawls towards Dean.

It shouldn't be as hot as it is, Sam's long, lean fingers working Dean's pants open, but it fucking _is_. Dean swallows when Sam looks up, eyes impossibly dark with intent, and then Dean's fly is open and Sam's pressing his hand inside, warmth flooding through Dean's cock as his brother rubs across its length through the thin confines of his boxers.

"Fucking hell, Sam--" Dean starts, then loses all ability to think when Sam leans down and flicks his tongue over the head. Dean locks his fingers into Sam's hair and tugs, relishing in the short hiss Sam makes before sucking open-mouthed against Dean's dick. He's drenching the underwear, spit soaking through wherever Sam puts his mouth. And it feels good, _fuck_ does it feel good, but it's nowhere near the contact Dean wants right now.

Sam's got one hand on the elastic, tips of his fingers just barely inside, and he pauses from his sucking when Dean grunts in frustration. He pulls away a little, looks up and smirks. "There a problem?"

Dean tightens his grip on Sam's hair. "Yes there's a goddamn problem," he says, groaning when Sam's mouth goes down again. "Fucking--quit messin' around, Sam."

Sam debates it, Dean can see it in the way his eyes flicker open and shut, and then he's digging his fingers into the elastic and pulling down, and just like that Dean's dick is free to the open air. Dean's hand moves from Sam's hair to grip the base, and he clenches his eyes shut when Sam wastes no time sucking the head between his lips.

The thing about Sam is that he's got a big mouth. Yeah, Dean jokes about it when Sam doesn't shut up but the fact remains that the guy's got this fucking huge mouth, wide enough that he can take Dean's dick with no trouble at all. The fact that he knows what to do with it just makes it all the better, wet heat slipping around Dean as he goes for broke right away, taking him deep.

Dean bites his lip and supports himself with his arm, moving his hips slowly in time with Sam's own movements. Spit's running down his cock, wetting the side of his hand when Sam's lips press against his fist, spreading it all over. Sam's messy, always has been, which Dean thinks is a definite plus in his brother's favor.

"Shit, Sammy," Dean manages, looking down to where Sam's going to town, mouth wide around his cock, strands of hair falling in his face. Sam is touching himself with one hand, palming his dick through his underwear, and the other is digging into Dean's cheek. He looks too fucking good like this, mouth stuffed full and gagging for it. Dean tells him as much, starts spouting off, "Fuck yes, Sam, c'mon, take it, look so fucking hot like this, sucking my dick."

Sam's fingers clench into the meat of Dean's ass at his words, edging him on to suck harder, the hand that was working at his dick coming up to cup Dean's balls, rolling them between his fingers. And Dean can feel it, can feel himself nearing the breaking point, feel the give in his balls as he approaches. He mutters, not even sure if it makes sense but it must, because Sam, the fucking _bastard_ is pulling his mouth off with a slick pop, hand moving to cover Dean's before he even gets a chance to finish what Sam started.

"No way, man, not like this," Sam says, backing up. He gives Dean a meaningful look before he sucks two fingers in his mouth, making a show of it, and then Dean gets it.

He nods quickly and kicks the rest of his clothes off, then moves up to the head of the bed, spreads his legs a bit. Sam moves with him, removing his fingers from his mouth and settling between Dean's legs. Sam grips his ass, wet fingers digging in as Sam spreads Dean's cheeks. One finger presses against Dean's hole, circling it slowly with seemingly no real intent of pushing in, and Dean grunts, glares at Sam who just smiles right back. And that's pure Sam--wants to tease and torture for fucking hours but turns into a whiny, needy bitch the second Dean turns the tables on him.

Sam moves his finger down, sliding it over the length of his perineum, and he looks up, smirking at Dean as he moves it back up. It's a slow travel, just the tip of his finger tracing the wet path he just made, until he's back at Dean's hole. He presses the pad of his middle finger against the opening once more, and then he finally--fucking _finally_ \--slips inside.

Sam doesn't slide in far--barely past the first knuckle--but Dean's already biting down on his lip, waiting for the deeper push that seems to take ages to come. Then he moves deeper, past the second knuckle until he's completely inside, and Dean groans at it, rolls his body around Sam's finger. Sam's fingers aren't thick exactly, but they're long, and Dean only really ever registers their length when they're pushing inside him, skilled and precise thrusts.

"So hot like this," Sam says, eyes focused on where his finger's breaching Dean. "Opening up for me, so fucking hot."

"Goddamnit, Sam," Dean groans, and Sam glances up for a quick second, flashes him a short, small smile and then grips Dean's bicep with his free hand, short squeeze before he moves it down to Dean's ass, digging into Dean's cheek.

The thing about Sam is that teasing he's good at--fucking exceptional at, if Dean has any say in the matter--but once he starts to follow through he doesn't stop. This time is no different; Sam opens him up easily, twisting his finger as he slides out and then back in, as deep as he can get inside.

Dean's cock is mostly soft against his belly, and he forces himself to keep his hands in the blankets, to grip the sheets so he doesn't give in to the urge to stroke his dick back to full hardness. A hand on his dick right now would have him coming way too fucking soon.

Sam slips his finger out then and moves away from Dean, leans over the bed and shuffles through the mess of clothing on the floor. He huffs a breath when he finds what he's looking for, then drops a condom and a small package of lube onto Dean's chest.

"Like a fuckin' boy scout," Dean mutters.

Sam chuckles and gets back between Dean's legs. "Hey, what can I say?" he says, grabbing the lube again. He tears at it with his teeth and spits out the plastic. "You taught me well."

Sam squeezes the stuff on two of his fingers and presses them to Dean's ass, rubbing them back and forth against it to spread the slick. They're pushing in then, a much tighter fit, nearly painful, and Dean can't stop the hiss as Sam sinks inside, slow but sure. Dean rocks back on them, pushes the fingers in deeper. He's torn between looking at Sam's face, watching Sam's hand work at him, staring at the motel walls with their torn green wallpaper, or just clenching his eyes shut; by the time Sam's pulling his fingers out and replacing them with three, he's done all of the above.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean chokes out when Sam gets the three of them to the second knuckle. Sam's fingers are lean, but not when there's fucking _three_ pressing inside him. Dean squeezes his eyes closed, lets himself get used to it as Sam works him open further. His face feels hot, mouth dry, but the burn in his ass is gone by the time Sam slides his fingers free.

Sam takes a couple of knee-steps back, hands going to the elastic of his own underwear and Dean licks his lips in anticipation. It's a quick tug down--Sam's through teasing for sure--and then Sam's cock is jutting up, long and dark and thick, sheer fucking beauty at this point. Dean rips the edge of the condom wrapper off and shoves it at Sam, who takes it with a tiny smirk. Sam strokes himself a couple times, fast ones from base to tip, and then he rolls the rubber on, slicks himself up with what's left of the lube until his cock's wet and shiny with it, and then moves back into position.

Sam wraps one big hand under Dean's leg, holds it up and spreads him out further and Sam rubs his cock against Dean's ass. The head of Sam's dick is fat pressed up against his hole, Sam gripping the base and circling the opening, the tip of the condom catching on the rim. Sam's hand is like a vice on his leg, and Dean's near crazy, about to tell Sam to just fucking push in, and then Sam does.

It takes the breath out of him, because _shit_ , his brother's fingers have nothing on his dick. Dean's not really sure how he could forget that Sam's hung like a motherfucker, but the proof is right there, working its way into Dean with slow, brief shoves. Dean grips Sam's arm, watches as his knuckles go white when he digs his nails into Sam's skin. It feels like forever till Sam's in the entire way, ages until Dean feels his balls press up against his ass, so goddamn deep. His cock's filling out now, full and thick against his stomach, and he fights back a groan when Sam adjusts his hips.

Sam waits for a moment, both hands under the joints of Dean's legs keeping them spread, heavy breathing from both of them as Dean adjusts to Sam's dick. Doesn't matter how many times they do this, Dean always ends up dumbfounded by the fucking size of Sam. Finally, Sam murmurs, "You good?" and Dean nods jerkily, because it _is_ now, and otherwise he's gonna tell Sam just how damn good it is, in vivid fucking detail.

And when Sam moves it's better, moving back before snapping his hips downward and forward into Dean again. The bed creaks with the effort and Dean thinks, this is it, this is where it breaks, but it doesn't--it manages to hold up through Sam's next thrust, and the ones after that.

Sam changes his hand placement, moves one to Dean's hip, the other to Dean's shoulder, blunt fingers sinking into skin harshly, cock driving in deeper with the next push. Dean wraps his now free legs around Sam's waist, heels of his feet digging into the small of his back with each new push and shove from Sam.

"Shit, fuck--yeah, c'mon, Sammy-- _shit_ ," Dean sputters, litany of curses coming from him as Sam fucks him harder. He gets a hand on cock, strokes it quickly a couple of times, then jacks it harder, firmer and faster, and in seconds he's close to losing it. "Crap, fucking--"

"That's it," Sam says, voice rough with his thrusts. "Come on, Dean, yeah."

His hair is hanging in clumps and there's sweat all over his face, all down his body--he's soaked with it, completely drenched with perspiration, and Dean doubts he's much better. He can't bring himself to care, though, considering Sam's dick is in his ass and his balls are tightening up, tense the second just before he blows. And then he's coming, shooting across his stomach and pulling Sam in hard, keeping him there with his legs wrapped around his waist, ass clenching around Sam's cock, such a fucking full feeling then. His legs go lax around Sam, and he jacks himself through the spurts, then a few more times as Sam resumes fucking into him.

He drops his legs from Sam's waist after another moment, breathing heavy as he comes down from orgasm. Sam rocks his hips, does a couple more shallow thrusts before pulling out completely. He rips off the condom and starts fisting his dick, fast strokes of his hand.

"Hey, no," Dean says, and Sam looks up, lip between his teeth. "Let me."

Sam nods and moves up a little until Dean can wrap a hand around him, cock thick and hot against his palm, and Dean jerks him fast and hard. Sam groans with Dean's movements, leaning over he as he jacks him off, face digging into the groove of Dean's throat. Hot, panting breaths hit Dean's neck as Sam ruts into his fist. Sam smells like spicy cologne, like sweat and sex, and Dean breathes it in like air.

Dean grabs Sam's ass with his free hand, squeezes the cheek hard and pulls Sam down with the thrusts. "Yeah, god, Sammy, yeah," Dean's saying, and he might be losing his mind a little with Sam's ragged breathing against him. He tightens his grip when he feels Sam start to tense, keeps the steady, fast pace as he jacks his shaft. "C'mon, Sam, come all over me. So hot like this, all fucking horny and tense. Wanna hear you lose it, man, _c'mon_."

Sam does lose it then, shaky groan as he spurts hard and strong over Dean's fist, adding to Dean's own jizz on his stomach. Quick half-breaths then, soft and faint as Dean slows his pace, as Sam fucks unevenly into his hand. Finally, Sam mostly gives up any attempts at holding himself up and drops completely onto Dean, crushing him, and Dean grunts with the added two hundred plus pounds.

" _Dude_ ," he groans, "you're gonna kill me." Despite that, it still takes Sam another minute to roll off of him.

Dean considers saying something, but seeing as Sam just gave him an orgasm, he doesn't bother, just wipes the drying mess off his stomach the best he can with the blankets, and Sam does the same. Dean scratches at his chest, yawning as the time of night catches up to him.

"Alright," he says, getting off the bed. His legs feel a little like jello, but that's mostly okay. He can't smell stale smoke, just the fresh, heavy sent of sex, and that's more than okay. "We need to see if the shower in this place works, and then we've gotta get the hell out of here."

Sam looks up from picking up his clothes. "There's not gonna be another motel for miles, Dean."

"Don't care. We'll sleep in the car if we have to, man. This room wasn't clean when we got here, 'cept maybe the bed. And, well." He nods at the mess--random articles of clothing still there, the bedding with stains of sweat and spunk and lube--and then smirks. "Well, I'm not so sure the bed's quite as stable now."

Sam snorts but doesn't argue, just finishes his search for his clothes, and joins Dean in the shower a couple minutes later.


End file.
